She’d even been known to go hiking on her own or camping with friends. But this trip—and what might follow—she dreaded at a deeply personal level.
She could lose the babies she had come to love with the intensity that only a mother could possess.
AS SHE’D EXPECTED, six hours later and three stops for diaper changes and bottles, she discovered Grass Valley was little more than a wide spot in a very narrow road.
Laura slowed as she entered the town. Eric Oakes had told her to meet him at his house, so she cruised past the few buildings that lined the main street, noting a couple of women visiting in front of the general store. An older man coming out of the saloon waved at Laura—probably mistaking her vehicle for someone else’s. She caught sight of the sheriff’s office, a short, stout building that wouldn’t even intimidate a jaywalker.
Then she saw the quixotic roadside mailbox, a prisoner in a bronze striped uniform escaping through the roof of the jail. Eric had said she’d have no trouble finding his place.
Drawing a deep breath, she turned into the long driveway leading to a two-story house. Modest by most standards, the best feature was a porch that stretched the full width of the house and was positioned to catch the morning sun. Two wicker chairs promised comfort while watching the sun rise.
A big cottonwood tree shaded portions of the front yard, and beyond the house stood a small barn and corral. A pair of sorrel horses raised their heads to check on her arrival.
Laura didn’t want to think about how much Amanda and Rebecca might someday want their own horses or have a swing hanging from a sturdy tree branch. Her townhouse didn’t have room for a corral, and the trees were mostly poplars, impossible to climb much less swing from.
When she pulled to a stop, a man came out of the house, the screen door bumping closed behind him as he walked down the steps toward her with an easy stride. Tall and lean in his khaki uniform, he wore a badge pinned to his broad chest and a pager on his belt that was no larger than a trim size thirty-two.
She’d really been counting on a beer belly.
Checking first to see that the twins were still sleeping, she got out of the car.
“Afternoon,” he said in the same clear baritone she’d heard on the phone, a tone that held a note of caution.
She nodded. “Sheriff Oakes.” His hair—the color of a sand dune after a rainstorm—was cut short, probably to tame the natural waves rather than from any desire to appear military. Crinkles fanned out at the corners of his eyes, as though he’d spent a lot of time squinting into the Montana sky—or laughing. His face was tanned, his jaw square, his lips set in a firm, skeptical line.
“Most folks just call me Eric. We’re pretty informal around here.” He glanced toward the truck. “You’ve got the twins with you, Ms…uh…I didn’t get your whole name.”
“Laura Cavendish. They’re in their car seats.”
“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you’d show up.”
“I said I would.”
“Well, let’s take a look at ’em.” He gestured toward the back seat.
She bristled. “This isn’t like picking out a good horse, you know.”
His pale-blue eyes narrowed and darkened with suspicion. “I didn’t think it was, Ms. Cavendish. But they are my nieces, aren’t they?”
“Apparently.” More than anything in the world, Laura wished they weren’t—wished the detective had made a mistake and traced the wrong man. But he’d assured her that wasn’t the case.
“How did you find me, anyway? Johnson is a pretty ordinary name.”
“I had your date and place of birth from your sister, which I gave to the detective I hired. Since I knew you and she hadn’t been raised together, we guessed you had landed in the foster care system somewhere.” The tricky part had been getting ahold of the adoption records. Laura hadn’t asked the detective how he’d managed that.
He cocked his brow, then edged closer to her vehicle, peering through the tinted side window. “So you’re pretty sure I’m the right guy.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. If she simply got back in the truck and returned to Helena, no one would question that she’d done as Amy had requested and decided their uncle wasn’t suitable. The twins would be hers. “But if you’re not interested in raising them—”
He grasped the handle and opened the door. Laura held her breath as he leaned inside.
“Oh, my God.” He spoke as though his words were a whispered prayer and filled with awe. “They’re so little.”
Through the crack, Laura saw him tenderly slip his finger into Rebecca’s hand. The baby closed her tiny fingers into a fist around him and opened her eyes, looking up at Eric with her bright blue eyes. A bubble escaped her lips.
“Hey, Tinkerbell,” he said softly. “This lady says I’m your uncle Eric. Whadaya think, huh?”
The magical exchange between the big, rugged sheriff and his tiny niece was so powerful, Laura’s throat closed down tight, and she almost couldn’t speak. “That one is Rebecca. The other one is Amanda.”
“How do you tell ’em apart?”
“Rebecca’s left eyebrow arches a little more than Amanda’s does and her ears stick out a tiny bit more. She’s also more wakeful than her sister.” Somehow, from almost the first moment following their birth she’d been able to tell the twins apart without checking their ID bracelets. The hospital nurses had been amazed. “Other than that, they’re identical.”
“I’ll say.”
A light breeze ruffled Laura’s hair, shifting it along the back of her neck, and she felt a chill run down her arms. “I think we ought to take the girls inside. They’re still a little fragile.”
He backed away from the truck. “Oh, yeah, sure. Come on in.”
“You get Rebecca, and I’ll go around to the other side to get Amanda.”
“You want me to—” He blanched as white as if she’d asked him to pick up a deadly snake. “I’ve never held a baby that tiny before. I’m not sure I know how.”
He’d better learn how in a hurry if he expected Laura to even consider leaving the twins in his care for as little as two minutes—forget the rest of their lives.
“Here, let me.” She edged past him, acutely aware of what a big man he was. His aura expanded around her, stealing inside her personal space, leaving her feeling slightly breathless. Unsnapping the car seat harness, she lifted Rebecca and gave her a quick kiss. “Come on, Becky. Meet your uncle Eric.” She held out the baby to him.
He hesitated.
“She won’t break as long as you don’t drop her.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
She laid the baby in his arms. “Keep her head propped up. Don’t let it
